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Posts Tagged ‘Preschool’

Captain Feathersword

My daughter had a little Halloween party at her preschool today and she was so excited about it that she could hardly sleep last night.  She got to wear a costume to school and the parents came to the last half hour and joined the kids for a little buffet (My contribution sucked, but that’s neither here nor there.  I brought string cheese.  Another mom brought string cheese that looked like dismembered fingers.  DAMN!).  This is the first year that she has had any opinion about her costume and unfortunately the opinion has been changing every few days since early September.  I thought we had settled on The Cat in The Hat but this morning she insisted on wearing the Captain Feathersword costume that we bought for her 6-year old boy cousin to potentially wear to the Wiggles concert last summer.  It’s too big and it’s sort of boyish but she really, really wanted to wear it and she did look pretty darn cute.  When I got to school I saw that the other little girls were dressed in little girl costumes: a princess, a mermaid, and a kitty cat witch.  I left feeling a little sad that my kid didn’t want to be something cute and girly.  I have no interest in perpetuating the gender stereotypes and forcing her into a box and I can’t stand Barbies and Disney princess obsessions but I can count on one hand how many times I have been able to get her hair into a ponytail.  And all of those little plastic, Goody barrettes?  The yellow ducks, the red bows, etc…  Nope.  But she’s her and I love her.  A lot.

So as I was pondering this hair tragedy and the bizarre little peanut to whom I gave birth, I came across this photo online:

noah cyrus

This is little 9-year old Noah Cyrus, Miley’s sister.

Ahoy there, me hearties.  After seeing this, that polyester Captain Feathersword costume looks more beautiful to me than any zillion dollar couture gown in the entire world.  Rock on, Junior Feathersword.  In 6 years, and in 16 years, you will not be wearing a dress this short.  Not under my roof.

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Men Are From Mars BookMy daughter came home from preschool today and said, “I like to hug, but some people don’t.  Olivia, Kendall, and Hanna like to hug but Ethan and Jacob do not.”  Ain’t it the truth…

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Raffi

I’m confused.  How in the name of Greg/Sam, Anthony, Murray, and Jeff has my child been exposed to the likes of Raffi without my consent or knowledge?  Prior to this week I was vaguely aware of Raffi’s existence but did not know anything about him.  I had heard of the song, “Baby Beluga” but did not know the tune nor did I care to.  Imagine my surprise when my kid picks up a Raffi concert DVD at the library and says, “Let’s get this ‘Waffy’ movie, Mom!”.  I added it to our pile of goods and didn’t think much of it until last night when she asked to watch it.  I put the DVD on and went back to my magazine.  Sweet Jesus!  What the hell is going on here?  I can appreciate that the music is positive and soothing but all of the children in the crowd seem to be drugged and why in God’s name are they all wearing pinafores and/or suspenders?  Is this the 1980s or the 1880s?

I decided to do some research.  Okay fine, I Googled him while eating an english muffin…  He appears to be a doe-eyed Armenian man with a penchant for using a banana as a telephone.  And the kids eat it up with a spoon!  I had seen his picture before but I think I had mistaken him for the prop comic Gallagher.  Without the hair, there is a resemblance.  And I think they both wear black, pleated pants.  So in that way, he also resembles Paula Poundstone.  Which would be Strike Two for Raffi.  If anybody’s keeping track, the Banana Phone was Strike One.

So, I still don’t know how the hell my daughter knew about Raffi if I didn’t.  We spend all of our time together and she only started Preschool last week.  My sister suggested that there may have been some playground peer pressure at work and that Raffi is only the beginning.  That terrifies me.  If Raffi is the gateway drug to Hannah Montana, please bogart that Banana Phone.  If you see me or mine on the playground, don’t pass it over to us.  We don’t want a hit.

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feature_4-seasons

Hide in the bathroom
The only peace to be found
Three-year olds are loud

Where did your pants go?
We can’t leave the house naked
Stop touching your butt

Sleep is for children
Mothers fold clothes and worry
Will sleep come again?

The preschool bully
Brown pigtails and shiny shoes
Her mom is mean too

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Mr. PeanutMy daughter is starting preschool on Tuesday and there are lots and lots of forms to fill out, lists to read and agreements to sign and date.  Most of them seem to pertain to peanut allergies and my rights and responsibilities in regards to them.  While I, like any good and decent American, am vehemently opposed to school segregation in general I am starting to wonder if these peanut allergy kids might not enjoy their own little peanut-free schools.  Because what in holy hell am I gonna put in that lunch box on Tuesday?  Preschool without peanut butter and jelly?!  I don’t know about this…

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Nice 'n EasyI went to the local community center yesterday to sign my daughter up for a preschool program.  A much-coveted spot had finally opened up and I was more than excited to take it.  I had called in advance and they were expecting me.  A young man of about 20 greeted me at the front desk, shook my hand and said, “You must be Miss Mary!”  Um, alrighty…  He showed me around and explained the procedures (yes on sunscreen-application assistance, no on butt-wiping assistance) and handed me some forms to fill out.  While I was perusing said forms I heard the young man speaking.  He was asking somebody a question about the center’s Teen Program.  It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me.  He was asking me if I might have any older children who would be interested in participating in the Teen Program.  Pardon me? I finished filling out the forms and placed them gingerly on the counter (as opposed to gingerly up his ass) and hit the bricks.

Then I headed to the drugstore to pick up a box of Nice ‘N Easy with “100% gray coverage”.  Mother of a teenager?  In your dreams, punk.

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BoywithQuestion_FullThree-year-olds are wonderful.  Their minds are like little sponges and each new day offers endless opportunities for learning, adventure and fun.  They are loving, independent, hilarious, and smart as whips.  They are also inquisitive.  Here is an example of a typical conversation that I might have on a car ride with my daughter:

“Mommy, is your dress brown?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why?”

“I just felt like wearing a brown dress today.”

“But, why?”

“Well, I like the color brown and thought this would be a nice thing to wear today.”

“Why?”

“Um, different people like to wear different things and this is what I chose today.”

“Why?”

“Maybe we should have some Quiet Time for a little while.”

Even the very sweetest exchange can be shot dead in its tracks:

“Mommy, do you love me?”

“Of course I love you!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my sweet girl.”

“Why?”

“I guess you were just made that way.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.  I guess Mommy just got lucky.”

“Why did you get lucky?”

“I guess I just did.  That’s all.”

“But why?”

“Do you wanna watch The Berenstain Bears?”

Yep, 3-year-olds are indeed wonderful.  And I will miss this stage terribly when Averi is four and more interested in her preschool friends than in asking me questions about everything on Earth.  But for the love of God,  the CIA could take a few pointers from my 3-year old when it comes to torturous interrogation tactics.  Waterboarding?  Sleep deprivation?  Ha!  Make them drive a Volvo around for a few hours with a 3-year old strapped into the back and I guarantee you their subjects will crack under the pressure.  You don’t need to ask any mother of a 3-year old, “Why?”

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